A Crown of Bones
by BenignViewer
Summary: Upon your crown we lay our bones, and from our woods grow your thrones. - Robb Stark dies at the Red Wedding, only to find himself trapped in Grey Wind's skin, still with a kingdom to save and a purpose to serve; although both seem very far away from a ship sailing to Braavos, with his littlest sister.


**Another Song of Ice and Fire**

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 _ **CROWN of BONES**_

* * *

 _Upon your crown we lay our Bones,  
And from our woods grow your thrones._

\- Rite of the Kings of Winter.

* * *

 **H** ow had it come to this? Robb thought as the volley of crossbow quarrels buried themselves in himself and his banner-men.

He'd only brought his most loyal guard to this wedding at The Twins, and the Bolton force he'd already sent through to throwback the fucking Ironborn, unwilling to loosen his grip on the Riverlands and Westerlands. His mother was still imprisoned at Riverrun for freeing the Kingslayer, Lord Rickard Karstark there too, for executing Lannister prisoners in response. That was good, now; his army wouldn't splinter completely with them and his other key commanders - the GreatJon Umber and the lady Maege Mormont - still behind guarding his holdings. Fucking Walder Frey.

Robb took a moment to marvel at how he was able to assess all his strategies now that he could no longer hear that awful music; every sound, even the pain, was pushed aside by the pounding rush of his blood. The wolf's blood. They weren't even good musicians.

Another volley of bolts, and he and SmallJon flipped a table for cover. It didn't do much good, as men at arms filed into the hall, livery of the Freys adorning them. Such sacrilege over a fucking bridge, and a slight to old, lecherous, Walder fucking Frey. Robb couldn't even bring himself to feel remorse for it - the bastard deserved the slight, for how he tried to extort him and his liege lord to cross his bridge. The thrice-damned Frey should have been grateful that Robb offered him a marriage to his uncle - and the Lord of Riverrun - in his stead.

Robb wasn't like his father in this regard. He'd break the terrible deal Walder Frey had forced on him again because, despite taking after his mother's appearance, his blood sang of the North. He could feel it inside him, from the feel of the morning chill to his wolf dreams at night. He was drawn to it, perhaps even more because of his Tully looks; he desired - needed - a Northern wife. His biggest regret in this moment was that he hadn't actually married the one he'd wanted. Who wanted him.

He saw her now, crawling behind a table further down the hall. Closer to the door and escape, but also to the Frey soldiers ruthlessly knifing his unarmed guards. Smalljon had snapped a deer bone, and was using it to repeatedly stab one of the Freys who'd been beside them through the wedding ceremony. The man's sword was caught in Jon's shoulder, but his hands had abandoned the hilt and were desperately clawing at the massive Umber man on top of him.

Robb knew that he was dying however, he'd taken the brunt of the crossbowmen's fire. He was an experienced enough warrior to know that the dozen or more barbed bolts sticking out of him like so many needles in a pincushion were spilling his lifeblood, but he was not one to meekly submit. Not even when three swordsmen all thrust their blades into Smalljons back.

Another flock of arrows flew, and it was with grim satisfaction that he saw several of the Frey's own men fall to the haphazard aim. Dacey had fought her way to the entrance of the hall, but was now cornered by two shield carrying spearmen whom she kept at bay with a candelabra. Robb couldn't hold back a last smile as he marveled how beautiful she looked, three bolts punching through her leg and her midnight hair dancing around her as they had together but a song ago. It felt like a lifetime now.

Then, to his utter shock, Roose Bolton strode into the chaos.

A dozen possibilities raced through his mind in an instant, but Robb knew that the man was no savior. More betrayal. When he drew his sword and made toward Dacey, Robb knew now was the time for him to die on his feet. In that instant they felt like paws. He launched himself forward then, infront of the Leech Lord, nothing but a prayer on his lips as his weapon. "The North remembers."

For the first time in his life he held the Bolton Lord's pale gaze. The moment was broken by, of all things, a quarrel burying itself in Roose's empty shield arm. More still must have found their way into Robb's own back, because next thing he knew he'd dropped to his knees, but he felt neither the stone nor pain. Bolton looked back to him from his wound, his eyes betraying none of the discomfort he must have felt. Instead he said "Winter has come for you, Stark."

"Winter comes for all." Robb replied "And the Wolf will always be king of it."

"Long may he reign" and with that Roose thrust his blade through Robb's heart. He was sure he'd fallen to the bloody flagstones but he only felt grass on all fours.

The last thing he heard was Bolton's quiet commanding voice, carrying over the dying notes of The Reynes of Castamere. "Take the Mormont girl and Karstark boy alive, we'll need them for leverage. It's a shame about the Umber. Do what you want with the rest."

Then he was howling at a dark cloudy night.


End file.
